


After the Fire

by freyjaschariot



Category: The Handmaid's Tale (TV), The Handmaid's Tale - Margaret Atwood
Genre: Angst, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-12
Updated: 2018-07-12
Packaged: 2019-06-09 10:53:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,494
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15265935
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/freyjaschariot/pseuds/freyjaschariot
Summary: Nick is reunited with June after the events of the season finale





	After the Fire

**Author's Note:**

> Apologies for what I'm sure are the hundreds of typos in this fic. I wrote it in a feverish rush last night at 3 am and I'm sure it's a bit of a mess but I had to get it out of my brain!

The smell of smoke still hangs in the air although the fire has been out for hours. The firetrucks are gone, the street dark and silent. I stand at the end of the street, ostensibly on patrol, while my thoughts are miles away with June and Holly. Did they make it to the van? Where are they now? It’s only been a few hours since I nodded to June in the doorway, saying goodbye the only way I could. They won’t be to the border yet but as long as they weren’t caught they’ll be close. 

I’m so entrenched in my thoughts that I don’t hear the person approaching until they reach out and tap me on the shoulder. I spin around, gun raised, only to find a one-eyed Martha standing behind me. 

She raises an eyebrow. “Easy, tiger.”

Heart thundering, I slowly lower the gun. “You shouldn't be here. It’s past curfew.”

“I’ve been sent to fetch you.”

My brow wrinkles. “Sent by who? Commander Waterford?”

The woman looks at me like I’m an idiot. “Offred. June. Whatever her name is.”

My heart thunders in my chest. What the hell is going on. “Who are you?”

“A friend of June’s.”

Can I trust her? It’s kind of a moot point. She obviously knows who I am, my relationship to June. “June got out,” I say slowly.

“Jesus, you’re slow on the uptake. I’m telling you she’s still here. She stayed.”

She stayed? I try to wrap my brain around this new information but it won’t compute. Why would she stay? 

My head jerks up. “What about Holly?”

The woman’s brow furrows. “Who?”

“The baby that was with her. Our daughter, Holly.”

“Oh. I don’t know.” The woman seems bored by the conversation. Wrapping her arms around herself, she angles her body away from me. “Look, are you coming or not? It’s fucking freezing out here.”

I consider my options then realize that in truth I have no options. If June is still here I need to see her, find out what happened. I shove my gun back into its holster. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m coming.”

The Martha leads me through the neighborhood down a series of streets I haven’t travelled before. Under a broken fence. Through backyards filled with clotheslines, the laundry hanging from them rippling in the dark like ghosts. 

The Martha leads me up the steps to a large brick Victorian and waves me inside, pulling the door behind us. Music drifts down from the upper floors. Some kind of late 80s rock. Lots of synthesizers.

I glance around. It looks like the MoMa exploded in the foyer. Paintings hang from the walls. A lot of abstract stuff. I don’t have time to reckon with it all before the the Martha is prodding me down a paneled hallway. She stops just before the kitchen at what looks like a pantry door. 

“Down there,” she says, pointing at the door. I open it to find a narrow rickety staircase. I glance back at her, my suspicions rising once more. Will I descend only to find a firing squad waiting for me at the bottom?

The woman rolls her eye. “God, Eyebrows. If I was going to kill you I would have done it already.”

Fair enough. 

The stairs creak beneath my boots as I descend. It takes my eyes a moment to adjust to the dim lighting. Then I see her. She’s standing in the corner by a low cot. She’s still dressed in her red cloak, red dress beneath it. I fucking hate that color. Suddenly I’m furious. 

“What the fuck, June.” 

“You’re mad.”

“Of course I’m mad. Why are you still here?”

She presses her lips together in a gesture I recognize as displeasure mixed with defiance. “I couldn’t leave without Hannah.”

“Yeah? And how the fuck are you going to help her now?” I demand. I drag a hand through my hair. “Jesus, June!” 

“I couldn’t leave her,” she repeats. “Not again.”

I press the heels of my palms into my eyes, wave after wave of emotion crashing over me. I want to tell her that I know. That becoming a parent made me understand that our children will always come first, that we will always do whatever is necessary to help them, even if that puts ourselves at risk. I want to tell her this but the words stick on my tongue. “You were so close,” I whisper. She should be in Canada right now. Not here, one slip away from a quick drop and a sudden stop. “You would have been safe.” The last of the anger slips out of me and I open my eyes. “I don’t have a plan B. The Marthas. The van. That was it. I don’t have any favors left.”

“We’ll figure it out. Commander Lawrence is going to help.”

I shake my head. I try to think clearly but my thoughts are a tangled ball. “Lawrence?” I met a Commander by that name a few times. He seemed… odd. But he was the architect of the Colonies. There was no more loyal servant of Gilead, according to Waterford. Then again, Waterford’s head is so far up his own ass he often finds it difficult to see things that are right in front of him.

“This is his house,” June says. “His Martha, Cora, brought you here.”

I look up. I’m afraid to ask but I need to know. “Holly?”

It takes her barely a second to cross the room to where I am and then she’s there, her hands framing my face, forcing me to look her in the eyes. Even in my current state I drink her in like a man parched. There are tears in her eyes as she smiles. “She got out, Nick. We did it. She’s free.” I let out the breath I didn’t know I was holding. My daughter is safe. She will not grow up in this hellhole. It’s more than I could have ever hoped for. “We’re going to get out.” June says this with such certainty you would have thought she had travelled to the future and seen it herself. “You and me and Hannah. We’re going to get to Canada and then we’ll get Holly back and we’ll never let her go again.” She lifts her chin as though daring me to contradict her. And despite everything I can’t. Despite the seemingly impenetrable odds stacked against us, I find myself believing her. 

My voice cracks. “I dream about her. Almost every night.” 

June grabs my hand and squeezes. “You’ll hold her again. We both will.” 

Before I can reply there’s a rap on the door and the Martha, Cora, pokes her head down the stairs. Her eye shifts from June to me to June again. “Dinner’s ready. One instant oatmeal packet per person. The Lord has truly blessed us. ” I can’t tell when she’s being sarcastic or not. I raise my eyebrows at June who just shakes her head and presses her lips together to keep from laughing. 

“Thanks, Cora,” she says, “I’ll be right there.”

“I can’t wait,” the woman says, withdrawing.

“I like her,” I say once she’s gone. 

June smiles. “So do I. She reminds me of Rita.”

Thinking of Rita makes me realize that I’ve been here too long already. “I should go,” I say. “I’ll come back soon. We’ll come up with a plan. Together this time.”

She nods. “Together.”

I linger. I want to tell her to be safe, not to take any unnecessary chances. But what’s the point? The only way to accomplish our goals is by taking chances. 

Finally, I force myself to walk away. I’m almost to the door when the sound of my name causes me to turn back. I turn just in time to catch her as she throws herself into my arms. Our lips crash into each other and it feels like my soul floods back into my body. Eventually we break apart. I lean my forehead against hers and breathe her in. 

She looks up at me, so many emotions flitting across her eyes that I can’t possibly identify them all. “I love you,” she whispers. 

I smooth my thumb across the curve of her cheek. “I know."

She holds out a pinky. “We’re going to get out. Cross my heart and hope to die.”

I don’t say what I’m thinking: that there is a very good chance we will both be dead before this is over. Instead, I link pinkies with her and nod. We kiss one more time then she pushes me away. “Go.”

“I’ll come back soon.”

“I’ll be here.”

As I depart the house the sound of music follows me. How long has it been since I heard music? A strange feeling washes over me. Hope, I realize. A fool’s hope, but hope nonetheless. 

For now, it’s enough. It has to be. It’s all we have.

**Author's Note:**

> comments = love! They also make me want to write more in the future!


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